


It Will Come Back

by TheDykeKnight



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Identity Porn, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Title from a Hozier Song, but like....one-sided?, me being gay, regular porn too!, that should be a tag lmao, unrequited angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDykeKnight/pseuds/TheDykeKnight
Summary: The sting of you consumes me just as well as it always has, melding into one with the everpresent pain. And it’s grounding - a constant, even now, after everything. We’re bound together, you and I, no matter what. You haven’t changed that.(Pre-Endgame. Joker is Eric Border.)
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	It Will Come Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rottentiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottentiger/gifts).



> Well. Here it is - my contribution to the batjokes secret santa event!! Hope you like it <3

I see you, Bats. I see you preying on this place like the leech you are, feeding off our sickness where it’s invaded the air. Breathe in enough, and you just might choke on it. 

(Resentment is poison, and I am nothing if not thorough.)

It’s funny, watching you. Hilarious, really. I’m not gonna let you in on the joke just yet, but it’s a good one, I promise. And you know I keep my promises.

You’re just so _at home_ here in the Manor is all, Brucie. Easy to forget it no longer belongs to you, I suppose, but - no. It’s not yours anymore, and neither am I, _darling._

Neither am I. 

I fall back into old habits just as easy as you do sometimes - not always, but sometimes, I can’t help it. And I’ll admit, it does hurt. Hurts me right down to my dead, rotting core, but that’s funny too. Funnier, even. I see you and every part of me burns (though that in and of itself is nothing new), and it’s poetic, really, ‘cause you’re the reason it _all_ _burns_ in the first place. 

The sting of you consumes me just as well as it always has, melding into one with the everpresent pain. And it’s _grounding_ \- a constant, even now, after everything. We’re bound together, you and I, no matter what. You haven’t changed that. Even as you’ve shattered and scattered all the pieces. I’ve gathered all of _me_ together, at least from what I know, but you’re embedded into my flesh. I've tried carving every shard of you out from under my skin, but there’s no difference, never has been. We’re still two halves of the same ugly whole.

You’ll never admit that to yourself, of course. You never admit to anything. Too caught up in pretending that none of it’s there. Too stubborn to see past the end of your pointy nose.

Really, when you like to be, you’re blind as a goddamn bat.

Ha.

It’s hard to believe that you still don’t recognize me, even now. Though I suppose _that’s_ nothing to fuss about, not when the punchline is so dependent on the setup. Patience, patience, joke’s gonna land. Just gotta keep my faith. Gain your trust, add a little bit of pixie dust...

So I simper, all closed lips and faux shyness. I fidget. I fumble and I fucking _flirt,_ picking and prodding at you til all that’s left is to sit back and watch you struggle. Watch you squirm.

I always lead in our little dances - you know that, of course you know _that,_ but now you don’t even know the steps! It’s funny, so funny when you stumble around sightless, blind as ever, and you look right at me but you still don’t _see._

Well.

I see you, Bats. And I can’t stand the sight of you.

You avert your eyes beneath those lifeless white lenses - hiding, always hiding from me, but you still don’t pull away. No, no, of course you don’t.

I won’t close the distance. Not _me._ Because it has to be you, don’t you see? You have to be the one to break the spell. You have to be the one to break _yourself._

I’ll wait, no rush, take as long as you like. 

(The key to good comedy is _timing,_ after all.)

Your conscience is still tripping over itself by the time our lips brush, loud enough in your head that I can practically hear it. But you shut it up soon enough, hands fisting in my hair, and that’s good, darling. That’s perfect. You know this wouldn’t be half as hilarious if I actually had to _force_ you.

We have no need for that, never for each other. Not even for this. And that’s the most damning truth of them all, isn’t it? You _want_ me. I can feel it in the way that you cling to me so desperately - desperate like a drowning man, like a man starved for air. You hold me like I might just slip through your fingers, and wouldn’t that be perfectly _symbolic?_

(I can still hear you shouting as I fell. The second time, that cavernous echo, the cold emptiness of your cave. That’s when I knew for certain - when my eyes finally opened, and I realized the truth: that if you had ever really cared, you wouldn’t have even _thought_ to let me go.)

I bite at your lips under the guise of roughness. Not vengeance, not anger bubbling just under the surface of my skin. It’s not like you can tell the difference, anyway. Willful ignorance is such a funny little thing.

You lead me into a side room, away from prying eyes, and I start fumbling with your belt. You undo the buttons of my shirt, and I smile, letting your hands roam over the bare skin where your marks no longer scar me.

And then I drop to my knees.

When I swallow you down, right down to the base, your hips barely jerk forward. Like you’re really trying to hold yourself back, and _oh,_ that’s just precious, honey. What are you afraid of? Hurting me? _Now?_

Don’t make me laugh.

I laugh anyway. Of course I do, because that’s who I _am,_ just the slightest little giggle, right around your cock. And you groan, guttural and low, because this is _exactly_ what you want, isn’t it? Not the meek, mild little orderly, no. You want _me._ Me me me and nobody, _nobody_ else.

You can lie all you want, baby. Sure, lie right to my face. Tell yourself you’re fine with your happy little family, keep hiding behind your mask, and keep on pretending. See what happens when you try to hide the truth, Bruce. Shove it all down and bury it deep. 

(I promise, I’ll rip it _right_ _back out_ of you.)

The first time you come, you come _hard,_ nice and hot down the back of my throat. You actually shake with the force of it, trembling like the coward you are, looking like you still don’t quite believe this is happening.

Well, it is, Batsy. And I’m not even _remotely_ close to being done with you.

I grab you by the middle, drag you down to the floor, and shove you flat onto your back. I straddle your hips and I clutch your cowled face and I _kiss_ you. I kiss you for all that you’re worth, you fucking _infuriating_ bastard. And I hate you, god, I really do, but I want this too. Need it, even.

And that, at the very least, means I’m honest with myself. 

(You should really try it sometime.)

Your mouth hangs open in a proper gawk when I tell you I’m already prepped. You should know that I don’t leave such things up to chance, now, darling. I don’t know why you always act so surprised. 

...But that’s just the same old habits acting up again, I suppose. Seems I’m still expecting things of you, setting myself up for disappointment. Well, not for long.

Not for long.

I stroke you all the way from base to tip - slow, tantalizing, _teasing_ \- and I can tell you’re still sensitive, dear, but that’s exactly how I want it. Truly, if I had my way, I’d keep you on the brink for hours. Make you beg for it. Make you scream. But this is a different type of torture altogether, I’m afraid. 

(Doesn’t mean I can’t still have my fun.)

I position myself easily and take you all the way to the hilt, clenching tight around your twitching cock, smirking even as it _burns._ Because it always, always burns for you, Batsy. You cry out at the feeling, gripping my hips with such possessiveness that it makes me want to _strangle_ you, but I keep my hands to myself. I can’t end the party too early, no, can’t ruin the surprise.

All in good time.

So I whimper and whine like the pleasure’s _too_ _much._ I let my eyes flutter shut and make my legs tremble slightly. More than anything, really, I act the fucking part. I don’t miss a single cue, and you buy every second of it.

Your arms wrap around me all soft and sweet, careful just to ease me down and onto my back. Gently, too gently, like I actually _mean_ something to you. You take off your gauntlets and slip your hands beneath my thighs. And as you hold me too close, the whole time, you stay inside me. 

~~You don’t even think to let me go.~~

(I’m properly shaking now - some truth seeping into and past the exaggeration - but that’s no matter. The damage to you has already been done. The details themselves don’t matter anymore.)

In the end, when you come, you come slowly. Not at all like before - so sudden and violent - but in long, languid thrusts. Shuddering as you bring us together, as close as you possibly can.

And I-

I can’t help but come too.

...

**_“I know who I am when I'm alone_ **

**_I'm something else when I see you_ **

**_You don't understand, you should never know_ **

**_How easy you are to need_ **

  
  


**_Don't let me in with with no intention to keep me_ **

**_Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me_ **

**_Honey, don't feed me, I will come back”_ **


End file.
